Shopping with Granny

Now that I have a little GPS thingy (or "SatNav" as those across the pond say) it's child's play to go in search of any... wool shop, no matter how obscure. And so we did! We had a deal, though - I would not be required to stay in the shop for longer than it took to say "have fun" and later "time to go!" Just as well, too, because I get the impression from the suspicious glances I received that the possession of testicles in such places is an actionable offence. On one day we went to Ann Arbor for a nice breakfast (at Cafe Zola, for those that care) and stopped off at a combined housewares-and-gardening store (which is like combining cocaine and chocolate for Grannies). Here Granny speed-reads gardening books to absorb information and avoid spending money:

The obligatory store cat, who clearly knew he was beautiful.

Sadly Granny already owns every known kitchen doo-dad. She tried to persuade me that I might need a ginger zester, but I stood firm.

After that (well, and Trader Joe's, Whole Foods and a Barnes and Noble so gigantic it had escalators) it was on to the wealthy (and yes, poncey) enclave of Plymouth in search of a Yarn Store of great renown. Here, Granny's steps quicken and her nostrils flare as she feels its presence:

Just to give you some idea of the sheer extent of the ponciness of this little strip, this shop is entirely devoted to Olive Oils. Not even any other oils allowed: